


Sprite

by kentuckybarnes (hannah_jpg)



Series: Sprite [1]
Category: Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-01 00:42:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15131327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannah_jpg/pseuds/kentuckybarnes
Summary: Since suffering effects from Dr. Banner’s accident a few years ago, you’ve been living in the Avengers compound in upstate New York at Tony’s generosity. A mission is launched against AIM to retrieve Dr. Banner’s notes, and if you’re lucky, to find a cure for your little problem…





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Do I know a lot about Marvel? No. Did I make up most of the details? Yes. Plot holes? Undoubtedly. Did I change the tense halfway through the story? Yes. Did I leave out a bunch of characters because I couldn't handle writing a dozen Avengers? Yes. Do I depend a lot on the existing tropes of Marvel fanfiction? Oooooh yes. 
> 
> Enjoy ;)

"So, welcome to the compound." Tony whirled around, gesturing his arms dramatically. Scott didn't notice; his eyes bulged as he stared around the enormous kitchen, laden with the appliances, gadgets, lukewarm food and bruised and bloodied bodies. Hope, trying to appear cool – was managing alright. She looked beyond Tony's grin, and frowned.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Just a little mission, nothing major," Tony said, brushing it off. "Scouting an AIM facility."

"Nothing major?" Sam, one of his arms in a sling, glowered from where he slouched in a chair at the bar. "How do you know? You weren't there!"

"Well, someone needed to show the new recruits around – "

"There are other people that could do that, you know," Steve lifted his head from where he was nursing a tall drink of water. A bright purple eye made everyone flinch, and the expression in his eyes was almost dangerous. "But if you had come with us – "

"It would have been over faster, yadda yadda," Tony interrupted. "Think of it as a team building experience."

Steve frowned. Natasha, trying to scoff, and winced as her lip split again. She lifted an icepack back up, pressing it gingerly to her mouth. Bucky raised his head with a horrific scowl. Team building was still a work in progress for some.

"I think maybe this isn't exactly what I signed up for," Hope said, lowering her voice for Scott. "They look awful."

"This isn't what you signed up for," Tony said cheerily, strolling around the island to raid a fruit bowl. "At least, not at first. There's training first."

"Oh…" Scott's excited expression faltered.

"No, we need your help with something else. Someone else."

"Someone – what do you mean?" Hope asked, her brows pinching together.

"We have a, er, small problem," Tony said delicately.

"She ain't a problem," Sam cut across, glaring at Tony.

"She?"

Pretending not to have heard Sam, Tony went on, "We think some of your shrinking and growing tech might help. Not sure though; the problem is with gamma radiation. We've done some tests, you'll be briefed, of course, and then you'll get started. If Banner was here he would know better, but since he went off the grid and his work was raided by those AIM scientists, we've been flying blind."

"She?" Scott repeated. "What – "

There were groans coming from Steve, who lifted his glass of ice water to his bruised head, and Bucky, whose metal arm was whirring wearily as he rolled his shoulder. Hope was looking impatient, and the look Sam shot you had you surge to your feet. It was time to step in.

But first you had to step around the fruit bowl. Scott and Hope were eyeing Tony, still bewildered, and you hopped atop a pile of physics book and cleared your throat as loudly as you could. It was tough drawing attention when you were only six and a quarter inches tall, but you did your best. You saw Nat's small smile out of the corner of your eye.

"Hi!" you said loudly, and two pairs of eyes snapped to you at once. Then understanding dawned.

"Oh," Scott said. "Oh, wow. That is a problem."

Hope is biting her lip. "I'll call Hank."


	2. Chapter 1

"Well, based on the gamma signature in your blood and the circumstances of your accident, there's not much any Pym technology will help. Might only make things worse."

You nod, trying not to let your disappointment show. But Dr. Pym, studying you from across the lab with his hands in his pockets, is too far away to see your expression.

"It's very strange though, isn't it?" he asks, voice lowering. There was a tilt to his head, a light to his eyes. It was the way all scientists regarded you. "Considering what the explosion did to Dr. Banner – but you were  _there_ , and somehow turned out entirely different. Different blasts of radiation, compounds of particles, I guess – that sort of thing."

"Yeah, I know," you tell him miserably, shifting awkwardly on the books you were sitting on. "If Dr. Banner was here, he'd know, I'm sure – or if I could have saved his notes before AIM got them, or if I hadn't been just an intern without access to the notes he was taking about everything… There's a lot of things I wish were different, Dr. Pym."

"Still, it can't be so bad," he says, clearly trying to be kind.

"It  _is_  bad," you insist, standing from where you had been sitting upon an upturned beaker, strolling across the tabletop with your hands shoved in your pockets. "I live in a hole in the wall! Literally! I can't go outside – I'm the right size prey for hawks, foxes, cats. I could barely do anything for myself before Tony rigged up some amenities for me. It's two and a half miles on foot from my  _hole_  to the kitchen, I could be stepped on, I can't read books without a massive headache, I can't work in the lab, I can't – "

"Ok, so it's bad," Dr. Pym interrupts, looking embarrassed. "I'm sorry this happened to you. I wish there was something I could do."

"There's something."

You jumped – you hadn't noticed Sam standing in the doorway to the lab. Evidently Dr. Pym hadn't, either, and he turned to look at Sam in surprise.

"Keep the spiders away from her room," Sam deadpans, his expression unfaltering. "They scare her to death. How would you feel if you suddenly saw a spider the size of a Pomeranian? Venomous or not, I think you'd pee your pants."

Dr. Pym chuckles. "You're not wrong, Mr. Wilson. I'll see what I can do."

"Good. See you around, sprite." Sam gives a nod, his warm eyes twinkling in your direction before turned away, disappearing down the hall. Dr. Pym turns back to you.

"Is there anything else I can do?"

You sigh. "Tony's done alright so far. And the compound AI takes good care of me. I have a tiny bathroom, little containers specially made for soap, my clothing is custom made. The team seems to like me well enough, even though sometimes I feel like a pet."

Dr. Pym nods gravely.

"I just wish I could do something," you say suddenly. "I wish I could work again! But a lab is no place for – for me. And I'm not good for much else."

"No hobbies?" he asks.

"Well – I used to read a lot. But it's too difficult now." You twist your hands together, looking down. "And that triathlon I was training for last year – " That one was long gone. A clench of disappointment was in your stomach, and hot, burning tears threaten your eyes. Luckily they're too small to be noticed.

"No, I imagine not." The lab is silent for a moment, and then Dr. Pym straightens. "I'll think about it. Maybe we can find a solution."

He means well, but your smile is sad as you tell him goodbye. With his absence, the lab is eerily quiet. You gaze around at the strewn notes on the table near you, the scattered books and tablets and pens. Metal bits were littered on the table across from you – that table was like a minefield for you, and you avoided it, even if the contents were so enticing, whatever they were. With a sigh you stride over to the edge of the table, and kick the silver dollar-sized platform to life. It whirs to life, a handlebar springing upwards.

"Where to, miss?" JARVIS asks gravely.

"Where's the team?"

"In the east rec room, miss."

"Take me there."

The platform lifts you off the table, and carries you swiftly across the lab and through the compound. It was pretty cool technology, most people would think – disregarding the feelings of the very small, very lonely woman riding it.

* * *

 

You dab the torn off corner of the paper towel in the tiny cup of water balanced on your lap, pressing it into the cut on Steve's cheek. He hisses at the touch, nearly unseating you from his shoulder.

"Sorry," he mutters, turning his head slightly. "It stings."

"I know. Let me just clean it, ok? It'll be easier than waiting it out."

"I know."

It was a subdued group in the rec room. Most were looking only slightly better than they had that morning in the kitchen – some sleep and good food had restored some spirits, though Sam's arm was still purple beneath a bandage, and Bucky's metal arm emitted sparks every so often. Evidently Tony had been too busy with the 'new recruits' to mend it.

"So, you got nothing at all from AIM," Tony was saying. He is pacing in front of the television, which he had turned off in honor of the informal debriefing. "You guys really are hopeless without me."

"Tony, they had freaky sandmen!" Natasha snaps. "We weren't expecting any guard, you said the facility had been abandoned for months – "

"So my intel was wrong."

" _Obviously_ ," Bucky says bitingly. "Next time let's plan a bit better so we don't all get beat up again."

"We won't solve anything by pointing fingers, guys. Come on," Steve cut across. "We all got a decent scope of the place – how can we get in? What are they hiding if it's so heavily guarded?"

"Were there vents?" Hope asks. Her arms were crossed as she sat in a massive red chair, determinedly not sinking into the leather which threatened to swallow her whole.

"Yeah, there were. But AIM knows about the pair of you, they'll be expecting us to have you go in through there," Natasha says.

You hop off Steve's shoulder, walking carefully across the back of the sofa to the next patient. You weren't good for much, especially in the way of nursing – but you could take care little scrapes and bumps. It wasn't a big thing, but the team was tolerant of your pathetic efforts. This was why you were still living here, rather than challenging your mother's cat for turf dominance at her house.

Bucky's head swivels as you approach, and you smile. "Hey," you say softly, knowing he would hear you above the grow disagreement. "You ok?"

"Yeah. Just stay away from my left. I don't want any sparks gettin' you."

You settle on his right shoulder, momentarily drawn away from his overpowering scent of spice and sweat as Tony's voice grew louder.

"You left three still functioning?" he was saying in disbelief. " _Three_?"

"They were hard to beat, man!" Sam retorted. "Which you don't know, because you weren't there!"

"I will be next time," Tony said, frowning. "What do you think for a next attempt, Cap? Direct assault?"

Steve is quiet for a moment, and you jolted as you remembered Bucky. You stand on his shoulder to study a small, bruised cut on his jaw, and then pull a clean bit of antiseptic wipe out of your pack. He's watching Steve, but a small smile seems to grow on his face as you tend the wound.

"Tell me if it hurts," you whisper. Bucky’s head inclines slightly to show that he heard you.

"I'm not sure," Steve says at last, his voice low and slow. "They'll be ready for us next time."

"We have to get inside," Tony urges. "This is the best lead we've had on Banner's work for weeks. If we can get them back – " He stopped, and the room grew silent. You swallow thickly, hesitating as you feel your face grow hot.

"Well, maybe this is the best time to make a little announcement." Tony picks up a silver case from the coffee table. You hadn't noticed it before, but the compound was filled with so many bits and bobs it's not surprising. Everyone's eyes are on the case.

"Project Sprite," Tony says. Briefly he glances around the room. "She was here, wasn't she? Oh, right – " He sees you on Bucky's shoulder, and you lower the wipe, confused. Project Sprite? But Sam called you sprite. And some of the other team did too, sometimes. What on earth did this have to do with you?

He opens the case, lowering it so all could see inside. Your jaw drops – tiny wings, not unlike Sam's, but in blue and silver were nestled in black velvet. Other items, too small to be seen from a distance, glittered in the bright overhead lights.

"They'll be looking for Antman and the Wasp," Tony continues, smug at the reactions around the room. "If we keep them engaged in the fight out front, they won't think to watch the vents and engage the defenses there. Then our little sprite can get in – "

"Are you crazy? That's too dangerous for her!" Bucky explodes. You waver on his shoulder, placing a hand on his cheek to keep from falling.

"This is  _awesome_ ," Sam says fervently. "She'll be a mini-me!" And he gave a whoop of laughter.

"They don't even know she exists," Tony explains, patience clearly wearing thin as a tick surfaces in his cheek. "No one does. And she knows Banner's work better than any of us; she can sneak in and see if his stuff is there, maybe shut down the droids. No one will expect it."

"It's a solid plan, Tony," Steve says warily. His eyes dart briefly to you. "But are you sure? It won't be safe, and she doesn't have any training."

"We can take care of that," Hope says. "Can't we, Scott?"

Scott, his eyes closed on the floor with his back to her chair, jolted awake. "Uh – er, yeah, sure. Whatever. I agree with Hope."

You have been biting the inside of your mouth, and you taste the coppery warmth of blood. Your heart is pounding fast. Go on a mission? Be a part of the team? Like, an  _actual_  part of the team?

"I dunno, Tony," Natasha says with a frown. "Steve's right. She doesn't have training. She's not an Avenger, she's a civilian. If anything goes wrong…" She trailed off. There was no need to finish. Everyone already knows what would happen. Your legs are feeling numb, and you sink onto Bucky's shoulder in a limp heap. He feels your movement, and his head tilts to the side.

"Hey, why don't we ask her what she wants?" he says gruffly. "Seems like everyone has an opinion but her."

All eyes are on you. Your breath catches – Bucky hears it, and he lifts his hand. You step onto it gingerly, and you're lowered to perch on his knee. A more central view to the room. Everyone can see you now.

"I – I think," you rasp, your voice not quite working. "I think…I would like to be useful. I want to help get Dr. Banner's notes. I want to do the mission."

There are smiles for you – either eager, or sympathetic. You can't see Bucky's face, but a blue spark from his arm warms your face.

"Excellent!" Tony says, tossing the case to you. Bucky catches it before it hits his crotch, and you hear a low growl directed at Tony, who ignores it. "Hope, Scott – you're on training duty. Sam will help you with the flying. Mission date is four days."

Four  _days_?

"Ok?" Tony says to the tense silence in the room. "Debriefing and re-briefing over. Class dismissed."

Low murmurs break out, and groans, too – Natasha curls herself out the couch, wincing as she glides out of the room. Scott is snoring again, and Hope has pulled out her phone, texting furiously.

"If you change your mind, it's ok," Steve says to you. You shrug.

"I know. But I want to help."

He gives a brief nod, and meets Bucky's eyes. Nothing is said aloud, and Steve stands to leave.

"Can I take you to your room?" Bucky asks. He's looking at you now, his mouth twisted in a strange smile-grimace hybrid. He doesn't trust the hoverboard Tony made for you.

"Kitchen," you say firmly. "I'm thirsty."

"What a coincidence. Me too."

You settle in the palm of his warm hand as he carries you to the kitchen. No one else wants to speak to you, apparently. Probably because they all think you're going to die on the mission. You half-thought so yourself.

"Well," Bucky drawls, setting you gently on the counter near your personal, miniature cupboards. "Welcome to the team, sprite."

You give a humorless smile, opening a tiny cabinet to put your medical kit away. "Thanks, Buck. Even though I know you don't mean it."

"I just don't want you to get hurt." He pours himself a glass of water, and you, too, in your little doll-house sized cup. “None of us do.”

“I know.”

You sit on the edge of the counter, feet swinging over the edge as Bucky leans next to you. You pick up your water thoughtfully, taking a sip. His elbow is at your eye level, and he's staring straight ahead.

"It wouldn't be so bad if I wasn't still…overly normal," you say suddenly. "Like…Scott and Hope are super strong when they're small. And Hope can fly. I'm as useless as I was before."

"Useless?" Bucky glances over at you, his lips twisted in a smile.

"I was a lab assistant," you remind him. He arrived after you, and so he knows little of your backstory. "Even Dr. Banner only had me organizing samples and calculating equations."

"Well, maybe a little useless."

You frown, and twist in place to kick his elbow as hard as you can. It barely jolts him, and he laughs.

"Sorry, sprite. It's just too easy, sometimes."

"Yeah, yeah. Button it up, Tin-man, or I'll use Dr. Pym's bug-language translating tech to send the spiders into  _your_  bed."

Bucky clutches his heart dramatically, gasping aloud. "Oh, no! Nothing but that! Nothing but… _spiders!_ "

You can't help laughing along, as annoyed as you are. The red scratches from the fight early that morning are visible against his skin, and you know he's being goofy to forget the defeat. You've lived in the compound enough to know all the little quirks of the team. Tony ate vegan, but only on weekdays. Sam liked to read western novels. And Bucky made more jokes when he was worried.

"I'm going to bed," you announce, standing up and pressing the remote control in your pocket to summon the hoverboard. "I suspect I'll be starting early tomorrow."

"Hope's going to be ruthless, you know."

"I know."

Silence. "Can I carry you – " Bucky begins.

"No," you interrupt. You don't mind Bucky or anyone else carrying you around – not exactly – but it felt demeaning at times. It wasn't good to get too reliant. "But thank you."

"G'night, sprite."

The silver hoverboard whirls into the kitchen. "Don't forget to take your meds, Barnes," you tell him in parting, and earn a smile before you hop abroad and Jarvis sends you to your hallway hole.


	3. Chapter 2

Breakfast is a late affair the next morning. You had tossed and turned all night, doubting what you had agreed to, before finally falling asleep sometime after 4:13 a.m. At least, that had been the last time you checked your little clock in despair. When you glided into the kitchen at long last, Sam, Scott, and Nat are still there, the remains of several breakfasts scattered around.

"I'm just sayin'," Sam was saying. "Make the ants useful. Trim the lawn. Dust the baseboards."

"It doesn't work like that," Scott replies, and the annoyed crease to his brow makes you suspect that Sam has been pestering him for a while.

"I don't think those things are useful," Natasha says, with very little interest, before she catches sight of you. You, at least, get a smile. "Hey! How are you feeling?"

"Alright," you say absently, hopping down on the table where Sam and Scott are sitting. "What's for breakfast? Hmm."

You grab a toothpick, and scour Sam's plate for a bit of scrambled egg. Small enough to fall through the tines of his fork, and perfect for you. Except that it's cold. You pretend-scowl up at him.

"Could've kept it warm for me," you say.

"Could've gotten up earlier," he winks. "Saved you some bacon, too."

A tiny bit of bacon – you skewer it on the toothpick. It's much better than the eggs. And with wicked thoughts you stroll across the table, smiling at Scott.

"Good morning," you say cheerily. "What's that? Toast?"

Scott's eyes widen, and he jerks the plate away from you. "I'm still eating," he insists, and to prove his point he shoves the entire triangle of bread into his mouth.

"Gross, man," Sam says.

"And tea," you say with interest, nodding to the mug. "Very nice. That mug is my favorite – I used to bathe in it before Tony rigged up the shower in my room."

Silence. You wink at Scott. He stares back.

"She's teasing, Lang."

You hadn't heard the footsteps approach. Steve and Bucky enter the kitchen, looking sweaty and worn out. They usually trained early in the morning. In fact, you were surprised they finished so late. Perhaps they were as disturbed by this new mission as you. But of course, it would not be spoken of. Not in the kitchen. That was Steve's quirk. Food and missions do  _not_  digest well together.

"She tells all the new recruits that same thing," Steve continues, grabbing a pair of water bottles from the fridge. "Right, Buck?"

"Yeah," Bucky says, glancing over at you with the slightest wink. "It's what she told me. Almost believed her, too."

"Yuck," Scott says under his breath.

"So, are we training today?" you ask brightly.

"Oh – yeah, yeah. Hope's with Tony now, with your new equipment. Hank sent over some doodads last night, so I think you'll be pretty well-equipped."

"Excellent. Steve, can you get me a yogurt?" you call plaintively across the room. "You're closer." He smiles, and without even asking what flavor you want (he has a good memory), brings a container and one of your teeny spoons to the table in three steps. A half-mile in your footsteps. You try not to think about it. You try not to think about any of that – it only makes you more unhappy.

You manage to seat about a sixth of the yogurt in the container, and you give the rest to Bucky to polish off.

* * *

 

The next few days of training are, if not the best days of your life, certainly the most interesting. The silver wings Tony had prepared for you work like a dream, and with the newfound freedom of not having a clunky hoverboard or having to be carried around by your friends – you zoom around the compound outside the training rooms. To the kitchen in record time, to your hole in the wall, to everyone's rooms to show off your new mobility.

"That's it, sidekick!" Sam rubs his hands together. He's been training you with the wings; showing you the tips and tricks to navigating midflight. And he is, without a doubt, the most excited about your new job. "Those thrusters will pack a real punch. Now we just have to think of a good sidekick name for you…"

The hallways and rooms are so much smaller than they seemed before! You laugh, the air whipping your hair around. So much  _freedom_.

"Looks like Falcon's got you trained," Bucky tells you with a smile, when you zoom into his room to show off. His eyes follow you as you loop around in the air. "He must really think you're his sidekick."

"He does," you say, hovering in the air near Bucky's face with a grin. "But the truth is, he's  _my_  sidekick. I just haven't figured out how to break it to him gently."

Bucky laughs. "Don't tell him without me. I want to see the look on his face."

"Right-o, Barnes."

The evening before the mission, feeling remarkably confident, you boldly invite Scott and Hope to visit your little room-hole. Sized down, they are tiny even to you – perhaps tall as your ankles – but they're a better size to appreciate it more than anyone else.

The little windows cut into the wall would look strange in anyone else's house – but in the Avengers compound, it's only one of the many interesting features. You open the door for your guests, and they go right in. It's nothing terribly special – a living space with specially-made furniture, a closed-off bathroom and stairs stuck to the wall, leading to your bed in a loft above. But it was yours.

"Not bad," Scott says, taking off his helmet as he looks around. "Wow. Really not bad."

"It's amazing to think this is all miniature," Hope says softly, collapsing on the armrest of your little couch. "And between the studs in the wall!"

You laugh, shrugging off your wings and placing them by the door. In case of emergency. Because you would be  _so_  much help in an emergency.

"Tony's been great," you say, wandering back to the living room space. "He feels sorry for me, you know."

Well, there went the jovial mood. Awkward silence takes over.

"Anyway, it's nice to have guests for once." You sit in a chair near Hope with a friendly smile. "I don't get a lot of those."

"I'm sorry my father couldn't help you," Hope said, her expression knowing as she studies your face. "I wish he could."

"So do I."

"We could shrink you or make you big-big," Scott chimes in, from where he is studying the contents of your little fridge. "It would only be temporary, though. So it wouldn't really help."

"Not at  _all_ ," you laugh. "Thanks, but no thanks."

"Hey, you've done well with your training, at least," Hope says. "We're excited to have you on the mission."

 _If I don't die,_  you think to yourself. "I'm excited too," you tell her. "I wish I could have been useful before now."

"I think you  _have_  been –" Hope begins, but Scott interrupts, effectively changing the conversation to how threatening dust bunnies could seem in the dark.

* * *

You wake the morning of the mission with nerves rolling in your belly. With shaking hands you wash up in your makeshift miniature bathroom before suiting up. You can't hear anything else from the compound, but likely everyone is as sleepy as you. The sun won't be up yet.

With only a few crumbs from Natasha's protein bar to hold you over, you settle into the silent Quinjet and try not to think about anything. You know your mission – that's not the problem. You can feel Bucky and Steve looking at you. It's Bucky's gaze that discomfits you more, and you fly up higher to try to hide on a shelf near the ceiling.

"Come on, guys, it's not a funeral," Sam says, the joke falling flat.

"Yet," Steve says testily. "I don't like the thought of facing those weird sandmen again."

"Think of it as glorious revenge. We'll get 'em this time."

Heavy footsteps sound on the bridge, and Tony, suited up in his gleaming armor except for his helmet, takes in the sober occupants with impatience. "Sam's right," he says, surprising everyone. "If I hear less than three jokes before we land, I'm taking away Xbox privileges for a month."

"Ugh!"

"Tony,  _no_ …"

"Hey, Sprite!" he calls, looking around. You glide down from the ceiling on your wings, embarrassed for having been hiding. He grins at you. "Hey. Thought about who you want to go in with?"

The plan was for you to hang out with a member of the team for safety until the path to the vents was made clear. JARVIS had provided rough sketches of the facility, so you had a fair idea of where the vents were located, but there was always room for error. You consider for a moment, and say matter-of-factly,

"Well, Tony, I think I'd like to stick with whoever gets hit at the least."

Dead silence in the Quinjet. Then a snort. Scott, you think. Then a burst of laughter from Sam.

"A good first joke," Tony says, nodding in approval. "One down. Everyone take note. The newest member is the most chipper. I expect more from you." And he glares around.

Truthfully, you wish you could stay with Bucky. He was usually the most patient with you, for some reason you had never understood. But he was probably going to get hit. A lot.

"Hey, sprite, I have a pocket here if you wanna fly with me," Sam calls up to you. "We'll be our own team. Falcon and…Sparrow. No, that's not quite right." He shakes his head, face twisting in a frown.

"Robin," Natasha suggests.

Tony snaps his fingers gleefully. "Joke number two! I like that."

"I don't need a name!" you say loudly. "I'll go with Sam. Does your pocket have a hole in it?"

He lifts his head to stare at you. "A hole? Of course not! Man, these pants are brand-new –"

"Then make one," you interrupt, and fly down to land on his knee, hands on your hips as you glare upwards. "Or do you want me to suffocate?"

Sam clears his throat. Beside him, Bucky gives a snort as he unsheathes a knife from his belt in a smooth motion, passing the handle to Sam. "A hole it is," Sam says, though his reluctance is obvious.

And that was how you found yourself in the air, tucked into Sam's pant pocket as you stare through the small slit in the fabric to the ground below. Only a dark iron door is visible against the otherwise bland landscape, and the figures of your team running towards it.

"The defense mechs will kick in soon," Sam shouts over the wind. "Ah – there it goes – "

From the ground, as if  _made_  from the ground, a dozen or so massive figures formed. The team didn't falter, but broke into groups – and roaring challenges in voices of grit the sandmen brandished fists the size of boulders.

"Let's get closer," Sam says. "You know the vents coordinates?"

"Yeah, yeah," you say in the coms. "Take me east. Should be something…"

Sam adjusts his course, and you tighten the goggles over your eyes as you search the tall grasses. Nothing. They were dangerously near the fighting…if Sam was attacked, you were in for it. None of the defenders seemed to have seen him yet, but they had to hurry… Your palms were sweating in your fingerless gloves.

"There!" he says jubilantly. "Eleven o'clock. See it, sprite?"

"I see it. Get me close!" You push open the flap of his pocket, heart hammering. A moment later he was swooping down, and with a shout to brace yourself, you tumble out of his pocket and into the brutal wind.

Yikes! This wasn't much like the training center at the compound. But a moment of quick adjusting, and you glide into the hidden, metal-barred vent in the side of the hill. Sam was already gone to join the fight, about ten regular paces away. The vent wasn't even that far from the front entrance – evil scientists could be real stupid sometimes.

The eerie echoes of the vent don't worry you. You've seen enough small, dark, and eerie spaces in the last two years. You press the button on your com, and whisper despite yourself, "I'm in."

"Good. Hurry it up," is Tony's staticky answer. "These things are brutal."

"Told you," Steve says, his breathing labored.

"On your left –"

You take off down the vents at a jog, trying to pace yourself for long distance. It was fortunate you had kept up on your running despite being miniaturized – in fact, laps around the dining room table were like laps around a track for everyone else. This always made them laugh, but you were so used to the teasing…

The vents twisted and turned, and with JARVIS's map memorized, you knew where to go. Soon there was light coming in through vent shafts, and when you blinked from the brightness, you stopped, peering through a vent into a large room.

It was unguarded. It was…utterly deserted. That was strange. For the sandmen things out front and the lights still on in the chamber, it was odd that no one was there. Oh well. That made your job easier.

You kick open the vent with all your might, and it springs open before falling soundlessly to the floor. There is complete silence, and then a ringing thud as it clatters upon the ground. No response. You take a deep breath, and fly into the chamber.

A few computers, blinking lights are on the desk. There are hard files, too, strewn around as if whoever had been there had left in a hurry. And best of all – flash drives.

"I found the data," you say into the coms. "But I can't carry it out. There doesn't appear to be anyone here."

"We'll send someone in," Tony grunts, and he gives a shout. "Take that! Keep your eyes open, sprite. Let us know if anyone pops up in there."

To bide your time and to keep from getting too jumpy, you kick aside some of the papers to see if the intel was correct, and that these were Dr. Banner's papers. It takes only a moment to confirm – you had typed his notes yourself, and while it's strange to see them so  _large_ , you recognize his signature on the bottom of the pages. You push them all together, and with tugs and grunts pull the flash drives from the computers, piling them neatly.

There are bangs and shouts coming from nearby now, and you turn to face the closed doors. The flickering green lights above were…beginning to be a little frightening. What if whoever came in wasn't a friend, but a foe? What would you do then? Tony had equipped you with tiny blasters on your wrists to use in an emergency, but they wouldn't do more than annoy, kind of like a mosquito…

An enormous, resonant  _bang_ , and the metal door began to warp. Another, and another. And then screeching as the doors were pushed apart. You catch your breath –  _please be someone from the team, please oh please –_ and Bucky Barnes, gasping for breath, falls into the room as the grating metal echoes grow dim.

"You there, sprite?" he says hoarsely, glancing around.

"Here!" you shout, jumping up and waving your arms. "Over here!"

Bucky sees you, and with relief in his expression, rises to his feet.

"You're efficient," he says. "We're about beat. They upgraded those things from last week. Which is weird because no one else seems to be here…" He sweeps the papers and flash drives into a backpack, and then swings it onto his back, buckling the strap across the front of his tactical vest. "Care to come with me?" Bucky shoots you a mischievous grin. "Or will you brave the vents again?"

"With you will  _probably_  be more efficent," you say primly. "Now –"

A gunshot echoes in the chamber, and Bucky ducks in surprise. The computer next to you shatters with a blast, and the explosion knocks you off your feet. It…hurts worse than movies ever made it look, and you wince as you shift gingerly off your aching hip. That was going to bruise.

"No one else seems to be here?" came a voice. A gross voice. It was slimy and dark, like molasses, but much, much more unsettling. A shadowed face appeared from behind a tall cylinder, the barrel of a gun pointed towards them.

"We're trapped," you hiss into the coms, knowing this man is less likely to hear you and shoot.

"Who are you?" Bucky asks, his voice a growl.

"Your murderer," the voice said sleekly. "Now, for a special experiment very quickly – I hope you will forgive – we have so few test subjects here –" And  _another_  gun loomed in the darkness, in his other hand. The barrel was wide, not unlike a horn, and when he pulled the trigger it didn't explode. You flinch, waiting.

"Didn't do nothing," Bucky says, an edge to his voice.

"Oh, I think it did."

Electric currents surged through your wings, and you shriek as pain overtakes your vision. Bucky is shouting, too, his arm sparking blue – and those blue sparks are the last thing you see before everything goes…black.


	4. Chapter 3

After a well-timed shield throw from Steve's shield, Bucky is gasping, leaning on the desk for support as he clutches his metal arm.

"Thanks," he manages to say.

"No problem." Steve hovers over the limp body of their enemy – whoever he was. "We gotta go. No time to take him. The sand things –"

A gritty roar, growing near. Too near. Suddenly wild with fear, Bucky scrambles over the table, searching for – for  _you_. If the magnetic blast had pained him, what would it have done to  _you,_ you were so small, and your entire suit was metal, and – and –

You're lying limp across a dusty computer keyboard.

"Come on!" Steve shouts, and he's sprint out of the room as the sound of a clash echoes threateningly. Bucky fumbles with a knife, tearing open a slit in the front pocket of his tactical vest – it will have to do. He puts the knife away, and gently – barely breathing for fear of hurting you – he lifts you up, lowering you into the pocket to nestle as comfortably as possible. You don't stir, and that terrifies him all the more. Your first mission – what was Tony thinking? You didn't have any special powers, except maybe your spirit. But goodness was no use against guns.

Bucky takes a deep breath, and rushes to join Steve in the fight.

* * *

 

The whirring of the Quinjet, usually a quiet him, seems to pierce through your skull mercilessly. You moan, rolling over on the warm surface beneath you, wondering why you hurt so much.

"Hey, sprite."

Bucky's gentle voice forces you to open your eyes. You're…lying in his hands. What the – you glance around, and see the worried faces of your teammates hovering over you. Oh, gosh. This was why you didn't like to be carried around everywhere – you felt ridiculous, and  _enormously_  embarrassed.

"What happened?" you decided to ask, rather than think more about how demeaning this was.

"Electro-magnetic-blasting gun," Tony says helpfully. "Knocked you out. Steve got the bad guy, Bucky grabbed you on the way out."

You wince, pressing a hand to your forehead. This must have signaled to everyone that perhaps you didn't want to be watched over, and the circle around you dissipates. Bucky looks away, his ears turning slightly red.

"The sandmen got angrier after their boss was knocked out, but they got sloppy, too. Fighting form was off. Easier to defeat," Tony went on. "Good job getting the files, sprite. You did great."

"My head hurts," you mumble.

"We'll get you and check-up and some medicine when we get back to the compound. We're about four minutes out."

You had been unconscious for  _three_  hours? The flight to the facility had been so  _long…_ that blast must have been bad to knock you out for so long.

"Did the blast get you?" you ask Bucky quietly, sitting in the palm of his flesh hand with your legs wrapped around your knees. Someone had taken off your wings, you noticed.

"Yeah," he says. "My arm is…broken again. That gun was nasty, whatever Tony called it." Several of the metal plates were bent out of shape, wires poking out. More sparks.

"Thanks for grabbing me," you tell him, and smile up at him despite the piercing pain in your head. "It would have been embarrassing for my first mission to be my last."

"Hey, you did great," Bucky says, echoing Tony's words. But from his mouth, they have more feeling behind them, and you feel your face warm. He goes on, "JARVIS is already going through the electronic files. He's 87.3% sure it's Dr. Banner's complete set." The last bit was delivered in a mock accent, and you bite your lip to keep from laughing. It would hurt to laugh.

"We'll go straight to debriefing when we get in," Tony calls. "No use in waiting."

"I need to use a bathroom," Sam argues back. "Give us some time, man!"

"If I give you time, you'll fall asleep for the rest of the day. Right away, and no excuses!"

You ignore the bickering, feeling the low swoop in your stomach as the Quinjet begins its descent. Bucky sucks in a breath – he doesn't like flying, much, and by the time the jet lands he's looking a little green. You settle on his shoulder and lean your head against his neck, still too weak to protest being carried.

"Thank you," you whisper.

JARVIS has sent up a screen with the files from the flash drives already loaded and analyzed. You can't listen all the way – you're too tired and your head is still throbbing. You seem to be the only one injured this time, too – apart from Bucky. No torn tendons, no black eyes. It was a good mission, all things considered. You close your eyes, wavering slightly on Bucky's shoulder.

"Hey," he says softly, leaning back in the black leather chair. No one else seems to hear him. "Lie down. You can rest. I'll catch you up later."

It doesn't take much to convince you. You yawn and curl up on his chest, twining your arms beneath your head and huddling into a ball. No one will see you sleeping, probably, and he'll keep you safe…

He always does.

* * *

 

A few days of rest and you're back to normal – mostly. There's a weird ache in your chest, though you're pretty sure it has nothing to do with residual electromagnetic effects. But you push it away, glad to have gotten out of the compound for an adventure, at least. Even just for a few hours.

"Don't know why he has to keep having these stupid galas," Bucky was grumbling, yanking the tie through his collar and scowling into the mirror. Perched on the edge of his sink, swinging your slippered feet around, you only smile.

"It's Tony, what do you expect?" you tease.

"Ugh. Tell me about it."

His fingers fumble with the bowtie, and he growls in frustration. "I can remember sixty-seven ways to kill someone, but I can't remember how to tie a dumb  _bowtie_. This is stupid."

Your smile fades as you see the flash of emotion in his blue eyes. He glances at you, the hard line of his mouth softening. "Sorry," Bucky adds. "My therapist says it's good to joke about those sorts of things. It's one of the steps in healing."

"She's not wrong," you say, watching him struggle as he attempts a bowtie again. "Take it through the loop, Buck – no, the other end – that's right. Left side over now."

He lets out a sigh of relief, and a moment later a crooked though complete bowtie sits haphazardly at his throat. "Wish you could come tonight," he says, in an offhand way.

"It's not the place for me," you tell him, wrinkling your nose and making him smile. "I'd get stepped on."

"You could stay on my shoulder."

"I'd be asked too many questions. You know Tony wants to keep me on the DL."

Bucky frowns. "The…what now?"

"The down low. He wants to keep people from finding out about me."

It's true – even though you aren't sure how you feel about it. On the one hand, you're grateful for the protection Tony has offered since the accident in Dr. Banner's lab. You're vulnerable, and you know it. But…it was extraordinarily lonely, too.

"People should know you," Bucky says, interrupting your thoughts as he picks up a small bottle filled with amber liquid. "You're worth knowing. Should I go for the cologne?"

You shake your head. "No, it makes me sneeze. And I don't need people feeling sorry for me."

He braces his hands on either side of the sink, studying your face. Embarrassed, you continue, "That's why I like the Avengers. You guys don't feel sorry for me. You've had too many troubles in your own life. Mine are…relatively small. Pardon the pun."

Bucky's face breaks into a smile, and he chuckles. "I still think you should come tonight," he says. "Keep me company. I doubt anyone out there will be as funny as you."

"Puns aren't generally considered the epitome of wit," you laugh, brushing away this compliment. "I'll go to a gala someday, I guess. Maybe I won't be stuck this size forever."

He's still watching you, his expression intent. Then before you can say anything, he draws a small knife from his sleeve and makes a slit in his jacket pocket. You gasp.

"Bucky! That's a nine-hundred-dollar suit!"

"Tony's foots these bills, and you know it," Bucky says, his eyes full of mischief. "Hop in. Enjoy an evening for once. I don't like the idea of you sitting all alone in your room, so soon after the mission." There's a disguised tick to his jaw, and you know he's right. He knows. You offer a smile, and stand on the edge of his sink as he holds the pocket open for you.

It's a snug fit, but you can peer through the little hole he made, and when he turns to the side you can see that you barely make a bulge in his jacket. No one would notice you.

"There," Bucky says, barely containing a smile. "Not many people can keep one of their best friends with them at all times. I'm sure lucky."

You roll your eyes, which he of course can't see. Best friend, indeed.

"But I am your conscience," you say in a spooky voice. "James Barnes, I have come to warn you –"

"Isn't that from that movie Sam made us watch a couple nights ago?" Bucky asked, striding from the bathroom and shutting off the light. "What was it…"

"Pinocchio," you supply.

"Right."

"I'm not a cricket. And you're already a real boy. Well, mostly."

Bucky is snorting as he walks towards the main hall of the compound, where bright lights and music were already filtering into the halls.

"Don't let anyone see you," he hisses as he pauses at the entrance. "People will think I play with Barbies. Although that might an improvement from my current reputation as bloodthirsty assassian…"

You cover your mouth to keep from laughing.

Observing the gala, hidden as you are, is enormously interesting. There are famous men and women, wearing expensive suits and gorgeous dresses (you can't help feel a  _little_  jealous), holding colorful drinks and bejeweled bags. The music is spectacular; Bucky loiters near the orchestra so you can listen for a few minutes before Sam comes over to chat. You are happy to ignore Sam, keeping your eyes riveted on the musicians…

"Hey, Tony tell you yet about the AIM files?" Sam asks after a few minutes, drawing your attention away. "We only got part of them. But there's an address encrypted in the information, Tony thinks it's where the base was moved to. We just got a mostly-dead facility."

"Mostly-dead?" Bucky says dryly. "Sandmen would indicate otherwise."

"Yeah, well. We got another mission."

Another mission! Would they ask you to go again? You aren't sure if you would want to…your headache had only tapered off the day before.

"Hello there, Sam!" A sultry voice broke into the conversation, and your mouth falling open, your clutch the fabric sides of your slit to gaze out at the women approaching. You feel Bucky stand stiffly, but Sam is all smiles and flirtatious compliments as he kisses the two women on their flawless cheeks.

"Hey girl, you're looking fine," he says to the one in a gold dress. "Wanna dance?"

She smiles, batting her eyes. "You betcha!"

The other woman was looking at Bucky. She's wearing red, her dark curls coiffed, and her eyes alight with interest. "We haven't met," she says. "I'm Bridget."

"Uh, hi. I'm…Bucky."

Oh, the poor man. You wince to hear the discomfort in his voice. Bridget clearly wanted to dance – Sam and his partner were already gone, and the poor girl was waiting so patiently for Bucky to ask. Oh, gosh. For this…you began to wish you hadn't come.

"The decorations are grand," Bridget says, glancing around. "Stark has taste."

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, he does."

If you were your full size, you would smack him. How could Bucky be so…oblivious around women? Granted, he had his problems, but he had been doing so much better in the last months with regular therapy! Instead of smacking him, you give yourself a facepalm as, a moment later, a defeated Bridget wanders away.

"You idiot!" you hiss under your breath. Bucky startles at your voice, and winds around the marble pillar. You climb out his pocket, setting on his shoulder and smacking his cheek as hard as you can. He barely flinches, but an offended look crosses his face.

"Ow!"

"You absolute goober! She wanted to  _dance_  with you!"

Bucky stares at you. "What?"

"She was interested in you! Oh my gosh, Bucky – you're worse than Steve! Put me down somewhere and go ask her to dance!"

"Too late," Bucky says, his voice rueful. You turn, and see Bridget being led onto the dance floor by some other guy in a suit.

"There went your chance of meeting someone," you say with a sigh. "Really, Bucky. From what Steve says, I would've thought you'd be better at women."

"I'm fine with women," Bucky snaps, straightening his jacket. "I just…forget sometimes."

"Like you forget how to tie a bowtie."

"Well, yes." He looks defeated – too defeated. You sigh again, and place your hand on his cheek.

"I'm sorry, Buck," you say. "I shouldn't have said it. But it was so obvious she was into you!"

"You think?"

"Uh,  _yeah_ , duh."

Bucky runs his fingers through his hair, exhaling. "I gotta keep you around, sprite. I need you as my conscience. Speak up sooner next time, yeah?" And he gives you a crooked smile.

"Yeah. Take me to my room, and then come back and dance with at least one woman. I do  _not_  need to be around for that, believe me – but I expect a full account in the morning. Witnesses, too."

"Yes, ma'am."

There's a door nearby, and he ducks through, taking you through the dark and winding hallways to the living quarters. Bucky stops at your little hole, and opens the door as you climb inside.

"Go have fun," you urge him. "You deserve it."

His face is shadowed, but you see his smile. "If my conscience says so."

"I do."

"G'night, then."

You close the door, and hear Bucky's footsteps fade away. But with each beat, the ache in your heart that you had been suppressing grows…more achy. How strange. You turn to face your empty room, devoid of life and utterly lonely, now that the threat of spiders was taken care of, thanks to Dr. Pym. Your stomach twists with sadness, and you sigh.

Well. Time to see what was on the little television Tony built for you.


	5. Chapter 4

The next day you linger in the dining room not-so-patiently. It's not until lunchtime that Bucky finally wanders in, and you stand up from your miniature chair and table so fast that the chair falls over, and he glances over at you in surprise. His hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and he's wearing workout clothes. Typical.

"Mission report!" you say eagerly. "Tell me everything."

He blinks in confusion as he remembers what you're talking about, but his face breaks into a smile as he pulls a smoothie from the fridge.

"There's not much tell," Bucky confesses, joining you at your table. Well, standing above the counter and looking down at you. "I danced with Nat. And someone else…I can't remember her name."

"You can't remember her name?" you ask, aghast.

"Well, I think she said it," he shrugs, taking a swig of smoothie. "Can't really remember anything she said. She was a little jumpy."

"Jumpy?"

"Being around me, I think." Bucky pauses, frowning slightly. "Do you think she was scared?"

"Could've been."

"Do…you think I'm scary?"

"Well – yeah," you say, jumping at the chance. "You're all scary to me. Hello! I'm like, six inches tall! _Hot dog buns_ scare me."

His laugh rings in the kitchen, and satisfied, you sit back down and pick up the tiny tablet Tony had made for you. It had WiFi and everything – the sort of thing that made your situation more tolerable. That, and friends.

"Can I make you something for lunch?" Bucky asks, returning to the fridge to study its contents.

"Yeah, I'd love something." Tony's generosity hadn't stretched to your own kitchen yet.

"Grilled cheese?"

Ah, the extent of a super-soldier's cooking skills. "Sounds great," you say, leaning your elbow on your little table, watching Bucky move around the kitchen.

"So," he says by way of conversation, setting a skillet on the stove. "If you were your normal size – do you think you'd be scared of me?"

"Hmm," you say thoughtfully. "A 100-year old super-soldier ex-assassin with a metal arm who can't cook anything but grilled cheese? Nah. I'd be more worried about how I suddenly became normal-sized again."

Bucky chuckles. "Have I ever told you how much I appreciate you saying things like that? Because I do. Thanks for minimizing my scary factor."

"Anytime."

"Want your own sandwich? There's plenty of cheese."

"No way – I'd puke a quarter of the way through. I'll eat some of yours."

Bucky grumbles good-naturedly, and flashes you a smile. "You can't tell anyone about that, you know," he says severely. "I don't need my reputation torn to shreds." He was known for not sharing food. Which was true, for the most part – Sam had tried to steal a handful of fries from Bucky once, and ended up with a knife pinning his sleeve to the table (Tony hadn't been happy), but – as Bucky explains it – you eat so little it doesn't make a difference to him. Sam, on the other hand…

"So tell me," you say as he flips the first sandwich over. Four more are waiting on a plate. "Apart from the girl being scared – how was it? Were you scared?"

He's silent for a moment, then shakes his head. "Maybe I was. I should've said something to calm her down. I could've…back in the day."

You smile sympathetically. "You will again, in time. I'm sure of it."

"We'll see." His eyes are on you. "But not everyone is as easy to talk to as you."

You laugh aloud. "That can be my tagline! _Easy to squish. Easy to lose. Easy to talk to_."

"It fits."

"Yeah, thanks."

Bucky carefully cuts a sliver of his sandwich for you, and he eats leaning against the counter. There's silence between the two of you, thinking your own thoughts.

"Whatcha up to this afternoon, sprite? Tony's in New York City, so there's a chance of actual peace around here."

"Well, I guess I could go sit somewhere and watch everyone else have fun. Run some laps around the dining room table." You give up on your scrap of sandwich. Bucky had overestimated your appetite. Again.

"Wanna catch up on some reading? Nat's still hounding me to finish 1984." He's piling the dirty dishes in the sink, and you rest your chin on your hand.

"Are you sure you don't mind reading out loud?"

"'Course not. Let's leave the dishes and blame them on Sam, what do you say?"

You grin, stretching back in the chair. "Don't have to ask me twice. Then again, I'd drown in the sink, so…"

Bucky is chuckling as he holds out his metal hand to you, and you climb aboard above the elbow, digging your feet between the whirring and newly mended ridges. You take a tight hold of another ridge about shoulder height, careful not to reach in too far.

"Is…that comfortable?" he asks, brow quirked as he stares down at you. He's holding his arm extraordinarily still, and you give a grin.

"It's not so bad. Giddy-up, Barnes. I can't hang on here all day."

The common room is empty, and Bucky has a quick stride down the halls. Before rounding a corner to his room, Sam comes out of his, looking down at his phone. "Hey," he says, glancing up after a moment. "Don't forget movie night tonight, Tin-man."

"How could I?" There's a sardonic edge to Bucky's voice.

"It's going to be a good one, and – ahhh!" Sam's shriek makes you jump, and you nearly lose your hold on Bucky's arm as he flinches. Then Sam is laughing uproariously, and you give him a very unimpressed look. "Hey man, there's something on your arm," Sam says as he claps Bucky on the shoulder. "Might want to get that checked out."

"Ha, ha," Bucky says, devoid of humor.

"Never seen you ride like that, sprite," Sam adds to you.

"Oh, yeah," you say airily. "I'm just, you know, hanging out."

Sam's laughter echoes down the hall, and with a snort Bucky continues on.

In his room, Bucky sets you down on the windowsill. You sit with your back to one side, turning your face to the sunlight and closing your eyes as the warmth seeps into your skin. There are no windows in your little hole – so to lay in the sun was a treat and a treasure. Bucky sinks into a chair nearby, flipping open a worn book with a sigh.

"Natasha has different taste in books than I do," he says woefully. "She's explained the allegory to me at least three times and I still don't get it."

"You just need to remember the 80s better," you tease him, glad to see a smile lift his lips.

"I'm not sure if I really want to." He shakes his head, but a grin tugs at his lips. "I'll have to ask my therapist tomorrow. A specific request: I want to remember the 80s."

You frown, tapping your chin in thought. "On second thought, maybe not. There are some things from that decade that should be forgotten. Hair. Fashion. Eyeshadow."

"I'll take your word for it."

The warmth of the sunlight and Bucky's soft voice, as well as the dull reading material have you yawning after the first chapter. You stretch out on your stomach, resting your head on your arms. Your eyes begin to droop. The window ledge was thin, but not too thin…if you fell, surely Bucky would catch you…

His voice stalls in an enormous yawn. You drag your eyes open to see him rubbing his own. "Don't fall asleep," he tells you roughly. "Because then I'm going to be out. You gotta keep me awake."

You smile, and after a moment you swing your weary legs over the side of the window ledge. Bucky stands with a groan, and you jump into his uplifted hand.

"You have to finish this chapter, at least," you say. "For Nat."

"Fine. Then she can get off my back about it." He lies down on the neatly made bed, and you curl up on the pillow beside him. Much more comfortable. Reading in the afternoons always had a way of exhausting you. You close your eyes while he props his head up with an arm and brings the book to his face.

The setting sun cast shafts of light across the room, across the bedspread. Through the window there are distant shouts and laughter – you recognize Sam's voice, and Steve's quieter replies. Training, probably. Or croquet. Steve liked croquet. Bucky continues to read, more slowly, punctuated by yawns, and at last you slip into slumber.

The room is dark when you jolt awake. You blink, disoriented, and notice that Bucky's breathing has changed. He's gasping, and as your eyes adjust you see his dim form, sitting upright in the bed, fists clenched around the bedspread.

"What is it?" you ask, rubbing your eyes. How long had you been sleeping?

"Someone's coming," he says hoarsely.

Sure enough, a moment later there's a merciless rapping at the door, and it swings open as the lights spring on. You wince.

"Hey there, sleeping beauties!"

Ugh. "Hi, Sam." You struggle to sit upright on the pillow, even though you'd like nothing more than to go back to sleep. Bucky is still rigid in the shoulders, breathing heavily. You start to crawl over to him, but you sink into the bedspread and yielding mattress – it was like quicksand or a ball pit. Finally, you're close enough to place a hand on his metal arm as he stares at Sam. He flinches slightly at your touch.

"What?" Sam asks, all innocence. "Tony's back, and he brought pizza. Thought you might like to know."

"Thanks," Bucky says through gritted teeth. The gears in his arm are whirring furiously, and you scowl at Sam.

"Sheesh, next time I'm sending Steve to wake you up." Sam shakes his head. "Ungrateful. It's movie night too, don't you forget." He points his fingers between your faces. "Maybe you won't fall asleep this time, sprite, since you've gotten in your eight hours already."

"Oh, please, it hasn't been eight hours."

"It's been long enough that Tony thought Tin-man went haywire again and ran off. Kidding, kidding!" Sam adds hastily, and quickly beats a retreat, closing the door behind him.

"You ok?" you ask Bucky when the room is quiet again.

"Yeah, yeah." But he won't meet your eyes as he sits up on the side of the bed, his feet planted on the floor. Hesitating only a moment, you climb up the ridges of his arm to scoot onto his shoulder. His jaw is clenched, and you spread your arms along his jawline in the best semblance of a hug as you can manage, kissing his unshaven cheek. It's scratchy on your lips.

"Thank you for reading to me," you tell him.

"No problem." Bucky's face has relaxed, ever so slightly. "You did a terrible job keeping me awake, though."

"It's the book's fault. Blame the author," you give a laugh, sitting back next to his ear.

"Sounds like a plan." He pauses. "Pizza?"

"You betcha."

"Think I can get Sam to flip out about pineapple as a pizza topping again?"

"Now that, I would like very much to see."


	6. Chapter 5

Sam's rumor of another mission to an AIM facility turned out to be true, much to your concern. Tony gave a briefing the next morning, giving the mission date for the following day despite the protests of yet another mission without more of a break.

"We didn't have any major injuries last time, so we'll be okay," Steve tells the group at large, later that day in the gym. Nearly everyone was congregated, but only Natasha was actually exercising on a nearby balance beam. Bucky is wrapping his hands near where you were sitting on a pile of mats to the side. You obviously couldn't do the balance beam or lift weights or use a treadmill, but you liked the company.

"My arm is still bruised!" Sam says, brandishing his arm so that the fading purple bruise could be thoroughly admired by his audience. "Can't lift weights! It's only legs for me."

"Then go for a run," Bucky says. He's not hiding his smirk. "Complain to your bird friends outside."

Sam grumbles under his breath, and you smile. "Run! What's the use in running when I'm outrun by everyone here."

"I can't outrun you, Sam," you call. "I mean, if you want to race…you've got it in the bag between us, I think."

"Yeah, unless your personal chauffer Tin-man here takes you for the ride."

"Yep, you'd lose," Bucky says without pause.

"This is what I mean – this is a  _disgrace_  –"

"You just need to find someone your level," Steve says to Sam. He's trying to be kind, but you see the sparkle in Steve's eyes. Sam scowls.

"Man, you guys are the worst."

"Maybe Tony will get the notes for super serum, and you can be the next experiment," Steve says with a grin. Bucky snorts. Sam puffs out his chest.

"Then I'd whoop all ya'll, and you'd regret it forever. New team leader – Falcon, right here."

"And then Tony would dish back all the sass you give him now," Bucky points out.

"Huh! I ain't scared of Stark."

Sam sufficiently needled, Steve and Bucky begin their warm-up routine; running in place, squats, and the like. You watch Nat's grace on the balance beam for a while before she dismounts – if she was in the Olympics, she'd knock it out of the park, you're sure of it. And you smile as Sam mounts a treadmill, still grumbling to himself.

The two in front of you move onto push-ups, and if you're not mistaken, they're competing to see who can do the most. You can hear them counting under their breaths. They really were show-offs when they were together, and you grin, watching with interest.

"Hey!" you shout, and they look up at you. "You'll be here all day if you keep on like that. Make it harder."

"One arm?" Bucky asks Steve, out of breath.

"Nah. Bigger load."

They share a grin.

"I claim Nat," Steve says quickly, before Bucky can even open his mouth. "HEY NAT!"

She wanders over, wiping the sweat from her face with a towel. She's not impressed by Steve and Bucky as you are. she's more familiar with their competitive antics than most, and so the look in her eyes is cool.

"Sit on my back," Steve tells her.

"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea, grandpa."

"If you get Nat, then I get…" Bucky falters, looking around. Only Sam is left in the room, and running at the treadmill with an interested ear cocked towards them, he shakes his head violently, panting slightly.

"Nuh-uh. No way, Tin-man. I ain't sittin' on you."

Bucky's eyes settle on you. His grin lights up his face. Natasha doesn't miss this exchange – in fact, she laughs, and on her way to Steve offers you her shoulder to hop down.

"One body each," Bucky says to Steve, who nods. He hasn't caught on yet, but when Nat lowers you to Bucky's back –

"Not fair!" Steve objects.

"Oh, I think it's fair," Nat says airily.

You sit down, crossing your legs between Bucky's shoulder blades. He's holding himself in a plank position, much like Steve as Nat perches on his back, legs over one side with her towel slung 'round her neck.

"Ready – set –"

Even though you've never done it before, you imagine it's much like riding one of those mechanical bulls found at rodeos and in terrible themed bars. You are completely dislodged, and you laugh in surprise. Nat's laughing, too. Bucky is moving much faster than Steve, and you lose your balance, clinging to Bucky's shirt before you're jolted off the side.

"Stop, stop!" you shout.

Immediately he does, chortling, and you clamor back up, breathless from giggling. Only Steve is straight-faced, focused as he continues his push-ups.

"Bad idea, man," you say. "Let me down somewhere safe."

"But you're such good resistance!" Bucky teases.

"Oh,  _whatever_."

You climb up on his shoulder, and he stands carefully to return you to the pile of mats. He beams at you, in thanks for the joke at Steve's expense, and goes back to his push-ups. The lively excitement from the past few minutes dissipates as you watch the trio continue their competition, now arguing whether they ought to take turns or if a pile of weights would be a fair substitute for you. It was strangely difficult, watching the three of them having fun while you couldn't – just because you were likely to get tossed around and get hurt.

And about that moment that you began to feel more left-out than ever. Two years, and you still hated being small.

You summon the hoverboard, and without telling anyone you slip from the gym, in search of something to do that wouldn't remind you so painfully of your situation.

* * *

  _"Can't you all see she's lonely?"_

The single light which JARVIS had turned on for you in the kitchen was enough to keep you in relative darkness. Huddled with your back against the little cupboard which held your miniature dishes, you allow the tears to burn your eyes as you remember overhearing Hope's words from earlier.

_"She could be at home with her family, she could hide in her room all day – but she stays with you. All of you. Can't you imagine how it feels to be the only person in the world your size? She stays with you because she needs the company. She needs the support."_

And then,

_"Tony, you have to find a way to reverse the effects of that accident."_

With your unhappy thoughts from the training room, you knew Hope was right. You  _were_  lonely. That weird ache in your chest was only worsening. The mission…had been good for you. It reminded you of what it was like to be really useful. Part of something. And now that was over, and you were still as vulnerable as before.

You sniff, wiping the snot from your nose.

"Who's there?" The voice is low, hushed – but you recognize it at once. Bucky.  _Bucky_? He was supposed to be sleeping! It was the middle of the night!

"I'm here," you say hoarsely, and a moment later he appears, wearing only shorts and a tank-top, as he stares down at you.

"Hey," he says, his voice gentle. Perhaps he's remembering what Hope had said, too. "What's up?"

"Just thirsty," you lie. "What about you? I thought your meds knocked you out."

"They do. I forgot to take them." Bucky smiles ruefully, and he opens the cupboard above your head to pull out a prescription bottle. "Can I get you some water?" he asks.

"Yeah, sure." Your voice is thicker than usual, from crying. Hopefully he doesn't notice.

"So," Bucky says loudly, pouring the regular glass and the tiny glass. "Ready for tomorrow?"

No, not really. "Yeah," you say. "Hopefully we'll get the rest of Dr. Banner's work and we can get that over and done with."

He's silent as he pops his pills, but afterwards he gazes down at you, his mouth twisted. "You ok?" he asks.

"I'm ok."

Another moment passes, and Bucky leans down on the counter near you, propped up on his elbows. You offer as much a smile as you can manage.

"You heard what Hope said," he says.

You whisper. "Yes."

"I heard you on your hoverboard in the next room." His eyes drift away. "I'm sorry. That must have been painful."

"She didn't say anything I don't already know." The words came out more bitterly than you intended, and to disguise your feelings, you drain the glass of water.

"If…if you want to talk about it. I'm here." Bucky sounds slightly uncomfortable – of course he would be, offering emotional support. But he still said it, and that means a lot. You see the sorrowful look on his face. He understands, probably more than anyone.

"I'm just lonely, sometimes," you say, your throat closing over the words. "It's hard…it's hard to feel so useless, in danger even around my friends, and…I haven't even had a hug in two years –" Your voice breaks off, and you rub your burning eyes to keep the tears from spilling. "I shouldn't complain," you say briskly, sniffling. "I'm alive, I'm perfectly healthy – apart from the size thing – and I have you guys. You've been good to me."

"We care about you," Bucky says softly, his eyes intent on your face. "And we want you to get better. I hope we find what Tony needs to reverse your condition." He pauses. "I really do."

"Thanks, Buck."

His smile is small, but sincere.

"Let me take you to your room," he says. "We need sleep before this mission, you and I. Otherwise we'll both be nodding on the Quinjet and Sam will never let us hear the end of it."

You give a weak laugh, and don't protest when Bucky lifts you gently to place you on his shoulder. It's more comforting than you had thought to realize, just to have human contact. You nestle into the warm, familiar scent of his skin, and close your eyes with a shuddering sigh.

* * *

 This mission is nothing like your first.

 _This_  AIM facility is fully guarded, and there were no outside vents. Several minutes of a tense skirmish outside the sewer entrance (really, AIM?), and you're finally brave enough to peek out of Sam's pants pocket as he sloshes through the brackish water. There were floaties that made your stomach clench with nausea.

"Yuck," he says. "This is nasty."

"It won't be so bad inside," Steve is ahead of the group, already in the next chamber. "Come on."

There are more guards and more scientists inside, and in the tight quarters you're jostled back and forth – there's no room for Sam to fly. Finally you grow too impatient, and crawl out of his pocket and buzz into the air, flying high and away from the fighting to scope out the concrete tunnels.

"Go left, sprite," Tony says on the coms. "That's where the energy readings are highest."

Staying high and out of sight, you continue down the concrete tunnels, weaving around lightbulbs and thankfully unnoticed.  _Get the data, get out_ , you tell yourself.  _It's simple. Just like the first_.

But this time, the computers in the massive cement chamber are surrounded by a dozen people in lab coats, arguing loudly about whether they should take the hard drives and leave or if the Avengers would be defeated by their guards…

"Not likely," you murmur to yourself, staying in the corners of the room to observe. It didn't look like you were going to get a chance to pilfer anything, unless the scientists suddenly disappeared.

The clamor in the tunnels is growing louder, and you hear a shout. Well. Maybe you were going to get some backup. The door opens with a crash.

Yep. You would thank Bucky and Steve later.

The scientists really didn't stand a chance, not really – even with the various weapons they fumbled with were pretty much useless. Scientists. Not soldiers. Not guards. Just nerds.  _Your people_. You smirk to yourself. If you ever did get to be proper scientist, you would make a note to learn to defend yourself…

"Nice work," Steve pants to Bucky a few minutes later. The scientists are strewn across the floor in inelegant heaps, some moaning piteously and some silent. Bucky is twisting his metal arm, a frown pinching his brows.

"Perimeter check," he says briskly. "I don't want to get caught like last time."

"You guys are efficient," you say aloud, and both glance up at you. Steve is surprised, but Bucky smiles as you fly down. "I'll get the –"

Bucky's suggestion of a perimeter check was the right move, but not quick enough. You had distracted them. Which gave one of the scientists time to reach in his pocket – your eyes flicker towards him, his face horribly familiar, and he lifts his arm –

"Look out!" you shout.

But it's not Steve and Bucky he's aiming for – it's  _you_  –

His smile is gleeful, utterly deranged as he points some – some  _thing_  at you – you don't know what it is, but the flared barrel is similar to the electromagnetic gun from the last mission. No sound comes when he pulls the trigger, but immediately the bones and muscles in your body clench in on themselves, and you scream. The wings on your back seize, and stop.

From far away, a voice. That slimy voice from the first AIM facility, the first mission.  _"This will teach you not to rob us again, eh?"_

And then pain. Bulging, searing pain! Bright, shattering pain – and a ringing in your ears that is oddly familiar. Familiar? Suddenly you're seeing Dr. Banner's lab again, the green lights and the sensation of every particle of your body vibrating painfully and your brain pounding against your skull – black spots appear in your vision –

"She can't fly!" Steve shouted. He was clenching the scientist's collar in one fist, the other having bloodied his nose. Now the man really was unconscious, but the damage was already done. Bucky barely heard Steve, he hadn't been able to take his eyes off you as weird light engulfed your form and pierced through the room as you fell.

It seemed to take forever. But the light just seemed to get brighter and brighter, and closer, and with fierce concentration Bucky lifted his hands to catch you, hoping he was aiming for the first place in the light –  _oh, no_  – if he missed and you fell to the floor…he would never forgive himself.

A body larger than expected crashed into him, knocking the air from his lungs as the floor met the back of his head with a painful thunk.

The collision brings you back to your senses, and you feel the hard, warm body tangled with yours. You blink several times, trying to think beyond the ache in your skull. You hear Bucky groan next to you.

"Bucky," you whisper.

"Yeah…are you okay?"

The horrific pain was over. Only a few aches remained, throbbing in your limbs as an afterthought. "I think so. You?"

The room is dim again, and you hear Steve say something into the coms. You lift a heavy hand to rub your eyes, and the body next to your shifts, and suddenly a face comes into focus above yours. Eyes full of concern, mouth twisted in worry –

And a hand, cupping your face.

A what now?

You stare. Bucky is smaller than usual. Meaning, he wasn't looming over you – well, he  _was_  looming over you – but he wasn't a giant. He looked, well, normal. Your size.

"Oh,  _no_!" you gasp, your heart clenching in fear and horror. "Bucky –  _they shrunk you_!"

Bucky blinks. "No…they hit you with that…gun thing. Not me."

The floor is cold against your back, and…your wing pack is gone. Weird. Bucky's hands were roving over your arms and legs now. Checking for breaks? But…he was your size. Or were you his size?

"Are you okay?" he asks again, returning his gaze to your face. You feel heat rush to your cheeks at once, and you can't quite tear your eyes away from Bucky. What on earth –

Sometimes, it's just easier to faint. And so you do.


	7. Chapter 6

Voices are distant, overlapping. They aren't making sense. Your head hurts too much. But then someone says your name, and the warbles form into words and sentences.

"Guess you got out of this project after all, Tony."

"Yeah, lucky me. I love it when someone does my work for me."

The Quinjet again. Just like the last mission, except last time you woke up in Bucky's hands. This time it feels less comfortable. Like a stretcher. Huh. That was cute. Tony had equipped the Quinjet with a stretcher your size since last time.

But…wait. Something had happened in the AIM facility.

You could barely think of what had happened in the lab. All you could hear was the sound of the team laughing together – evidently the mission had gone well. You moan and stir on the stretcher, and immediately a hand grasps yours. The feeling of holding someone's hand was so utterly foreign – so unfamiliar that you don't even want to open your eyes. It's too confusing…

"Well, I'm sad I lost my little sidekick. I was thinking Raven would be a fun name. We could have made her suit all black – kinda like Nat but with wings. Cool, right?"

You open your eyes. The bright lights of the Quinjet make you wince, but after a moment Sam's face comes into view. He's grinning down at you – no longer a giant, and holding your hand. Holding your hand. As in, hands the same size. Well, relatively. Before, you had only been able to span one of Sam's fingers with both of your hands. Not anymore, apparently.

What?

"Ahhh!" You give a shriek and sit up straight, startling everyone on board. The blood rushes to your head and worsens the pounding, and you blink back white spots in your vision. Sam is at your eye level – his face a normal-sized face…

"Welcome back to the real world, sprite!" he teases, his face splitting into a beaming smile.

Breathing hitched, you look around. Everything is so…weirdly big. Close. Hope is smiling broadly from where she sat, Scott nodding in encouragement. Nat is serene, but her eyes danced. Steve is looking on in approval. Tony's up front at the pilot controls, but you hear him say,

"Thanks for getting zapped, sprite. Saved me a lot of effort of trying to decipher Banner's handwriting."

Only Bucky's expression is unfathomable. Though he is smiling, it's a strange smile – a little sad, maybe. Certainly confused, as if he's unsure what to think.

Well, so were you. Especially as your heart thumps, and you have to look away from him. You swing your legs over the side of the stretcher, breathing deeply as your head rushes.

As weird as it is not to be tiny and mostly helpless, it's even more strange to walk off the Quinjet by yourself when it finally lands at the compound – your legs a little wobbly, but your strides sure and strong. And through the door into the compound –

"I can't believe I just walked that distance by myself, and in like, seven seconds!" you say shakily, and you hear laughter behind you.

"Maybe we can have that race now," Sam says, his eyes lighting up. "Show everyone I'm not the slowest –"

"Nice try, Wilson, but didn't you know? She used to do triathlons. You're still toast," Steve says, nudging Sam in the ribs as he walks past, and disappears in the direction of his room.

And there…you falter. You had been about to turn down to go to your hole in the wall – but that obviously won't work anymore. You don't have a room anymore. Tony's gone, Nat slipped away…

"Come on, you're bunking by me," Sam says, gesturing you on onward. He hadn't stopped walking like you, and glanced back. "Tony set up something real nice, we know you haven't really loved living in the wall, so…"

Overwhelmed and entirely ensure, you glance over your shoulder. Bucky is standing there, smiling his twisted, confused smile at you.

Sam's garbling fills your ears, and you lose sight of Bucky down the hall.

* * *

The shower is luxurious. Not that the little one that Tony had rigged up for you was bad, but a real, actual shower with light shining in from an overhead window – utterly glorious. And there's another window in your room, letting in bright sunlight as you sit in borrowed clothes on the neatly-made bed, running your fingers over the cool, silky covers and taking it all in. Your head still aches, but thoughts whizz and whirr, giving you no peace.

You were normal. You weren't small anymore. You could…you could live your life again.

Despite having thought of little else for the last two years, the sensation brings a myriad of bewilderment and fear. But why? You could work in a lab again – you could eat real meals and not just scraps, you could read books…you could go to Tony's galas…

 _But why?_ A voice in your head protested. Why would you even be invited? You weren't a member of the Avengers; not really. You weren't one of Tony's many employees. You'd been bumming off his generosity, but that was all. And you had worked on the team when you were small, but now…now you had no place on it.

Comfortable as the room was (and you flop ungracefully on the bed just to put how comfortable it is to the test), it's…a lie. _You don't belong here._

"Whatever," you say mulishly to the voice in your head. "You're not helping."

_But you know it's true…_

At the mission debriefing the following morning, you feel like you're the only one at a disadvantage – everyone looks like they slept well (you didn't), had a great breakfast after their morning exercise (you had done neither of those things), and were excited to be there. You were dreading the inevitable dismissal. But still you were there, out of pride more than anything, and you were thankful at least there was an empty chair by Bucky.

He smiles when you sit down beside him, and you manage one in return. In fact, he might be the only one beside you that doesn't appear to be in top form. Had he slept? Had he taken his meds?

You start to ask, but Tony calls the meeting to order and you shut your mouth with a snap.

It's not an exciting meeting, and after about a half-hour your head starts to droop. But a moment later Tony says your name, and you jolt in your seat.

"Our "little sprite" here will go through the data with JARVIS to make sure it's complete," he's saying, casting you a glance out of the corner of his eye. "Then we'll work on some cleanup, make sure AIM's experiments are stopped."

"Good," Steve deadpans. "I've about had it with sandmen."

"Okay, meeting's over," Tony says. "If we're going into wise-cracking territory, I'm out. Don't forget – tomorrow night." And a final, severe glare around the room that had everyone shifting awkwardly in their seats.

"What's tomorrow night?" you whisper to Bucky as everyone begins to stand, stretch, yawn, and escape.

"Gala," he says blandly. "To celebrate the mission success."

Do you know? You hadn't known there was to be a gala – maybe you hadn't been invited.

Your crestfallen bewilderment must have shown, for Bucky hastily added, "You are invited, sprite. You can finally have your chance to enjoy one of Tony's parties without worrying about getting stepped on." There was a flash of his usual, crooked smile, and you laugh.

"A dream come true, really."

"You can inspect how I act around women without sitting in my pocket," he adds, blue eyes twinkling.

"Wow, lucky me," you say sardonically. "The more you go on, the more I want to go, really."

It was more bitter than you meant to sound, but Bucky says nothing. Despite your teasing, the idea of finally attending a gala makes your heart beat with excitement.

* * *

You arrive early at the glass and gold doors which lead to the ballroom. But there you balk, peering in through the glass at the lively party beyond, questioning yourself… Even with Nat's help dressing your best, something holds you back. It seemed like a different life looking you in the face now. Maybe you could find someone you knew, not having to face the crowd alone –

"Care to help a friend out?"

You jump and whirl around, silk skirt flaring. Bucky's face is partly hidden in the dim light of the hall, but his smile is rueful. It's more jolting than you realize, to see his face so close to yours. He looks different from this perspective. Better than you might have expected. Handsome, even. Heat rushes to your face as he clears his throat. His untied bowtie is hanging from his collar, and you give a shaky laugh.

"Really, Barnes? Still can't remember?"

"Nope."

You stick your clutch under your arm, giving a long-suffering sigh as you reach up to tug the bowtie together. "Maybe you should get one of those pre-tied ones," you suggest with a wry smile. "Like Sam's."

"If Sam does something, it's usually a sign that I shouldn't."

"I'd like to hear he has to say to that."

You give the bowtie a final tug, straightening it under Bucky's unshaven chin. You lower your hands, biting your lip as his glittering eyes fasten upon your face. Suddenly you're less sure of yourself than ever.

"Bucky…" you begin, and swallow thickly. "I've been wanting to thank you for…for being so kind to me all those months. Your friendship has meant a lot to me, and I'm incredibly grateful you…you took such good care of me." You try to smile, though it might be more a wince. "I know I probably wasn't the easiest to watch out for."

Bucky's brows have drawn together in a manner a little alarming. There's a tick in his jaw. "You goin' somewhere?" he asks harshly.

"What? No, I – what? Why?"

"That sounded an awful lot like a goodbye."

You tilt your head to the side, studying his frown. "No, it wasn't meant to be." Then, afraid of the tension out there in that dark hall, you give a sudden laugh. "What will you do without your conscience, Buck? You need me."

His expression relaxes. "I guess I'm sad you can't sit on my shoulder and whisper what I should do in my ear anymore."

"No, I can tell you to your face." You plant your hands on your hips. "Bucky Barnes, you have to ask at least two women to dance tonight. I'm upping the game."

"Perfect," Bucky says, a glint in his eyes. "You and Nat. I'm set."

"That doesn't count, you goober –"

But he grabs your hand in his, his grip merciless – quite impossible for anyone of ordinary strength to break out of – and hauls you into the ballroom where the lights are piercing and the music loud from the band on the dais. A woman is singing, her husky voice accompanied by the mellow thrums of a guitar and a lazy piano.

 _December come to me._  
_I hope I can see_  
_You not just in dreams..._

Your heart is hammering in your chest – this is entirely different than half-suffocating the pocket of Bucky's jacket; so much better, in fact, to be in his arms swaying to the music. Here, his eyes are warm, roving over your face and lending a bit of his fearlessness to your wavering emotions. Here, his touch is solid, the right size, and completely delicious after years of enormous people trying not to hurt you. Here, you're equals. Here –

 _Why can't you believe  
_ _How much you really mean..._

It's like being shot with an electromagnetic pulse all over again. Every vein of your body is on fire, humming and vibrating as Bucky's blue eyes bore into yours with his usual intensity – no, more intensity than usual, all sparks and fire as his hands burn on your skin; your hand, your back. But it wasn't painful, per se – it ached. It ached in your limbs and in your heart, complete bewildering as you stare back at Bucky, wondering what on earth was happening…how such a seismic shift could occur in a matter of seconds without any outside manifestation of fireworks or earthquakes.

 _I will carry you home,_  
_Take you from the loneliest  
_ _Place you have known..._

You had forgotten the gala, until the music ended and applause broke out across the room. A tantalizing moment, and Bucky releases his hold on you. His expression is hidden now behind a distant frown, his face tilted away. His red face. What had happened?

"One down," he mutters.

"Oh," you draw in a shaky breath. "Oh, right. Good." Your throat is dry, your tongue heavy. It's like being drunk, although you haven't tasted any alcohol in months.

Bucky glances over your shoulder, and his mouth sets in a thin line. "Here's Sam for you," he says. "Have fun, sprite."

And before you can do anything else than gape like a fish, he's gone into the crowd and Sam's hand is on your elbow. But you don't hear a word you said, because every iota of your awareness has followed Bucky to where's he's sitting down alone at the bar.

How very strange. You push the experience from your mind, and smile for Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I accidentally wrote a sequel to this story. And I've started a sequel to the sequel. So...let me know if you're interested? Haha.


	8. Chapter 7

The next days are strange and hollow. You start a routine as best you can – avoiding everyone as much as possible except Natasha in the gym and Tony in the lab going through Dr. Banner's work. But at least you're busy. The pile of notes is shrinking fast. You won't have a reason to stay on at Tony's generosity much longer…

_Lab positions in the upper New York area._

Painful as it is, you know your time is limited, and so you scour the internet on your new, normal-sized phone, and even in a fit of desperation – the local newspaper which is delivered every morning (and usually sent straight to recycling). But nothing fits quite right. You aren't qualified for a medical lab, and New York is short on radiation and physics labs. You would have to look further.

* * *

"Alright, we've narrowed the choice," Sam announces, standing on the coffee table to project his voice over the chatter. "Contagion, or Monty Python and the Holy Grail." He holds up the two movies for everyone to see – The former he held out higher, wiggling back and forth. His choice is clear.

Awkwardly squished on the couch between Bucky and Nat, you wish belatedly that you had been allowed to sit on the floor. The couch had been at peak capacity when you were small enough to watch movies from people's shoulders. This was just…too close. Bucky was tapping his knee methodically with his metal fingers, so you're not the only one thinking it. But the argument of who would sit on the floor had already taken up twenty minutes of Sam's movie night, involving so much polite shouting that you were feeling a headache behind your eyes.

"Whichever one is shorter," Nat suggests.

"No, whichever one is  _better_ ," Sam says. "Contagion it is. It'll be like hypothetical training. What would we do if there's a pandemic outbreak?"

"There's training for that in the system, you know," Tony says from the red chair. He had snagged it first, and was looking smug to have personal space. "JARVIS, remind me to schedule pandemic protocol exercises next week."

This elicited groans all around, which are sounded out by the opening credits.

Your record of nodding off during movies and books is in no danger of being broken. Only twenty minutes in, and your eyes are growing heavy. You aren't even sure of what was going on; your mind drifts to the jobs you'd been applying to, to where you could live when you leave the compound, to how much you don't want to go…

Bucky's shoulder is looking mighty inviting, and your head droops. Ah, yes – now  _that_  is familiar. It was strange to be the same size as everyone, to not know your place in the world – but you knew Bucky's shoulder. You knew his scent, you knew how he would adjust himself slightly so that you would be perfectly balanced…

"Hey. Hey, wake up."

You bury your face deeper into the warmth, away from the light. But a pair of strong hands grasp your arms, lifting you up – cool air hits your cheek, and you blink as Bucky's face looms close. He looks…wary. Unsure. Had you done something embarrassing? You look around, but the room is empty apart from you and him. The movie must be over. Why hadn't he woken you sooner?

"Sorry," you say, rubbing your eyes and trying to scoot away. He releases your arms, his hands falling awkwardly to the couch.

"It's ok," Bucky says.

"I should really stop doing that –"

"I don't think you can." His smile is hesitant, and you clear your throat. But before you can speak, the words launch from his mouth, as if unwillingly: "You got an email on your phone."

"Oh, um – thanks."

It's sitting on the coffee table, and you reach over to pick it up. The screen brightens, and a single notification can be read:  _Regarding your application to Tech Corp. Systems, Inc._

"Oh," you say, staring blankly. It must have set off a notification, if Bucky knew you'd gotten it. Had he looked? Oh,  _no_  – was that the reason his expression was so strange?

"Natasha picked it up first." Bucky's voice is low, his hands wringing together. "We…we didn't know you were planning on leaving."

Your face burns with embarrassment, and you drop the phone in the pocket of your sweater as you try not to meet Bucky's eyes. Which, when you look up, is impossible. There's unhappiness there – perhaps matching yours. You hesitate for a moment, and say,

"Well, I…don't really belong here. Not anymore."

"Why not?" His question is harsh, accusative.

"I'm not a superhero," you retort, barely keeping yourself from adding, duh!

"Neither is Sam or Rhodey or even Tony, they just have special suits and things –"

"Which I don't have," you say hotly. "I had a little jetpack that busted when I grew out of it. I'm a lab tech, Bucky. The Avengers don't need a lab tech. I can be useful somewhere else, maybe finish my doctorate."

Bucky blinks at you, his frown deepening as his brows drawn together. But the flicker of anger is as gone as soon as you think you see it, and his flesh hand grasps yours painfully. You bite your lip, unable to tug your hand away.

This was why you hadn't told anyone you were going to leave – the look in Bucky's eyes was too disturbed, it was making your ears ring with regret. Your breath was short.

"Don't go," he says.

_I won't. I won't. I'll stay here with you forever._

"I have to. This isn't the place for me."

"It is. You have us."

_I have you. I have you._

You shake your head, unable to speak. Bucky drops your hand, shifting closer to you on the couch. He sighs as his arms snake around your waist.

"I hate seeing you so damned sad," he mutters, his breath hot on your neck, where he has buried his head. "Please, don't go." Your heart seems to stop and your limbs grow heavy. Then he tightens the embrace, and your breath is squeezed out of you. Numbly you lift your hands and place them on the taut muscles in his shoulders beneath his soft shirt, your eyes closing.

Oh, this is nice. How long has it been since you've been properly hugged? More than two years. And even before that…none had been  _quite_  like this. This was far stranger. Every bit of your body is thrumming somehow, and his touch is…it's magical, really. It's so good to be held again…

"Don't go." His voice is hoarse as he pulls away, his unshaven cheek brushing against yours. "Stay."

You swallow past the thickness in your throat. "I want to. But…I can't."

"You can."

Both his hands are on your face now, and you're drowning in his eyes as his thumbs, one warm and one cold, brush against your cheeks. "Stay," Bucky repeats, his voice plaintive. "I can't lose my conscience."

A choked laugh escapes you. "Oh, Buck. I'm a terrible conscience."

"No, you're not. And I bet you could still sit on my shoulder." The teasing twist of his smile makes you laugh again, this time shakily.

"That doesn't sound safe, Barnes."

"It will be, I promise."

Oh, no. You know how sincere he is – you know all the quirks of the Avengers, and Bucky never lies. He's almost like Steve in that way, but Steve will hint around the truth if it's a painful one. Bucky doesn't. He means what he says. Closing your eyes briefly, you allow the warmth of his hand to seep into your cheek…it really is so nice being touched again…

"I'm going to bed," you murmur, so that you'll have to go.

"Ask Tony. Please. Just ask if there's a place for you here." Bucky's expression is mournful, imploring. After a moment you nod.

"I will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one today! But the next chapter is the final installment, at least for now ;) As always, comments are greatly appreciated :) I hope you all have been enjoying this story as much as I loved writing it!


	9. Chapter 9

The next day the compound is quiet. Unwilling to search out any company, you stay in your room, scrolling through job applications on your phone. Unsurprisingly, it deepens your sense of uncertainty and loss. And the look on Bucky's face the night before keeps coming back to your memory, so miserable and painful. How could you go away knowing how desperately he didn't want you to?

A knock at the door startles you mid afternoon. Turning wearily over in bed and dropping your phone onto the pillow, you call, "Yeah?"

"It's me." Bucky. The door opens just a crack, and his face pokes in. Uncertain. A little annoyed. About last night? You swallow thickly.

"What's up?" you ask. _Act normal. Act normal._

He opens the door the rest of the way, sidling into your room. Then he frowns, and tossing Nat's worn out copy of 1984 onto the bed beside you.

"We have the afternoon off," Bucky says gruffly. "I ain't reading without you. Wouldn't be right."

Biting back a smile, you pick up the book, rifling through the pages. The bookmark is barely past the halfway point. "Well then," you say, glancing up. "Looks like we have a lot to cover."

" _You_ have a lot to cover. It's your turn to read."

"Me?" you gasp. "You would make me read aloud?"

"Now that you can hold a book? Yeah." His eyes, though more guarded than usual, are intent on your face. Then he blinks, eyes roving downward. Your face flushes with heat. "Uh, nice pajamas."

"Tony only has so many free clothes to choose from," you inform him in a snap, pulling a blanket over the offending Captain America shield sweatpants. "I take what I can get."

"What about that dress at the gala?"

"I borrowed from Nat."

"And what's on your shirt there?"

You tug the bottom of your shirt awkwardly. "Hawkeye."

Bucky's eyes roll upward. "Ridiculous. I bet Tony doesn't even have anything Winter-Soldier themed."

"He does. But only hoodies." you say quickly. Maybe too quickly. There was one hanging in your mostly-empty closet, but he didn't need to know. You smile, to keep your secret, and add, "These novelty companies send him samples all the time, but it's not like I could have requested anything, you know." And without a pause, you blurt, "Are you going to sit down, or just stand there all ominously and stare at me?"

He grins. A tight grin. "I was surprised to see you normal-sized when I came in. I'm used to the six-inches tall thing. And it's weird seeing a girl I like wearing the emblem of my best friend on it."

"Oh, please." You hope you're not blushing at his comment – _a girl I like_ – but it's probably a lost cause. "If that bothers you, then I won't tell you that Tony's spare-clothing inventory only has Iron-Man underwear."

"Uh – what?"

"I said I won't tell you. Now sit." You pat the bed next to you, a little forcefully. At his dubious look, you add, "I ain't getting up. Park it."

Bucky is slow to relax, sitting stiffly on the edge of the bed before unlacing his boots and tossing them to the side. Propping your head on the palm of your hand, you watch the set of his shoulders.

"How was therapy this morning?" you ask.

"Good. I think."

"Good."

He lies down awkwardly beside you, arms at his side and eyes on the ceiling. You sigh, sympathy overcoming your amusement. "Bucky, this isn't the first time –"

"Yeah, I know, I know," he says curtly. "It's just – this is your bed, not mine. I shouldn't be here. And you're not the size of a hot dog anymore. Hey – ouch!" Bucky rubs his arm where you pinched him, giving you a glare.

"Like I said, I ain't getting up," you tell him crossly. "It's this, or you can read by yourself."

"This is fine." The words seem to be torn from him unwillingly.

You study his face, your eyes narrowing. "You sure about that, Barnes?"

"Yeah, yeah. Just –" He shifts uncomfortably. "You know how the doctor says I should, like, say things instead of not saying them."

"Um, yeah. Mmhmm."

"I'm sorry about last night." Bucky turns his head, eyes meeting yours with, well, hesitation. "Giving you a hard time about leaving. I wasn't thinking, I guess. But it's your choice, in the end."

"You don't have to apologize. It's...good to know that I'm wanted here." You rub a stray thread from the bedspread between your fingers, gaze dropping. It's too painful to look at him. However well you know Bucky, his feelings were still unfathomable. He was a private man. You had no way of knowing what exactly he meant by expressing this regret, so…there was no use in being upset by it.

"Thank you for the hug, at least," you blurt at last. "It's been a long time for me. I...liked it."

"I liked it, too." He pauses. "I like you."

This was the second time he had said he liked you in the last five minutes. That plain-speaking of feelings wasn't usual for Bucky. You lift your eyes again; he had turned on his side to face you. His magnetizing gaze makes your throat go dry, and you lick your lips.

"But I still don't want you to go," he says, his voice a rumble.

"I'm…going to talk to Tony, like you said. Maybe I'll stay." It was a vain hope. But maybe he needed a vain hope.

He hesitates for a moment, as if weighing his next words. "If you stay…even if you don't – do you think we could...have something?"

You blink. His scent is overwhelming, so near. "Something?"

"Yeah, like…Scott and Hope. Tony and Pepper."

For a second you forget to breathe. Bucky's brows crease, noticing the change in your breathing, and you force a smile. It wavers. "Er, yeah, I think we could. "

Studying your expression, Bucky lets out a low exhale. "I can't pretend I'm in the healthiest state of mind. That I'd even be good at…whatever this is. What we have."

"It's not nothing," you say, feeling heat in your face. "I don't think."

"I don't think so either. But it won't be easy."

A smile forms on your face. "Nothing's easy."

"Being with you is easy." Bucky's eyes seem to drink in your face, flickering over your features as his flesh hand reaches out to touch the ends of your hair. "I'm more myself when I'm with you than anyone else. Except maybe Steve. But…it's not quite the same."

Every inch of your body is melting. It's becoming hard to breathe, and you swallow nervously. The book is limp in your hand, and with stronger fingers than yours Bucky pulls it from your grasp, tossing it over his shoulder. You feel your cheeks warm yet again.

"It was only an excuse to come see you," he says. There's a flicker of his old grin, lighting his expression. You return the smile, much more broadly. 

"You don't need an excuse, Buck."

"I wasn't sure." Bucky's face is closer now, and you can feel the warmth of his breath on your cheeks. As if taking on a mind of their own, your fingers trace the buttons on the front of his shirt, not unaware of the hardness and heat beneath. You jump a little when his nose brushes against your hairline, lips trailing across the skin of your cheeks to your mouth…

There's a slight pause, breathing in each other's breaths. Then Bucky's lips are on yours, hot and a little dry, and his arm curls gently around your waist to shift you onto your back. You can feel the warmth of his entire body, pressed to your side, and your hands lift to tangle in his hair to push it away from his face.

He pulls away, breathing heavily, and rests his forehead against yours. "Sorry," he mutters as your head continues to reel. "I...I don't really know...what to do."

"Oh, that was fine," you say, your voice quivering. "Just fine. Er – better than fine. Uh huh. Yeah."

Bucky chuckles, and kisses your cheek roughly before collapsing back onto his side. His hand finds yours on the bedspread, and you blush to see dimples flickering around his lips. Then you clear your throat.

"Now. What will you tell Nat, when she asks if you've finished her book yet? Hmm?"

Bucky's nose wrinkles, and you giggle. "Fine," he grumbles. "Fine." And he twists quickly over to retrieve the discarded book from the ground. "But you're still reading."

"Fine." You flip the pages to the bookmark, and without glancing over you scoot your hips several inches closer to Bucky. He seems to freeze, and you push his arm back so you can rest your head on his shoulder comfortably. A tense moment, and then his breath is warm on the top of your head.

"This is weird," he whispers. But his other arm snakes around your waist, anyway.

"We have plenty of time to get used to it. Now shush – let me read or I'll tell Nat you're a bully."

"The pot calling the kettle black."

" _Shh_." You reach behind your head to pinch Bucky's lips together. He doesn't move. Success. And settling deeper into his embrace, you finally begin to read, feeling remarkably better about everything.

* * *

"Well, of course you're staying!" Tony says loudly, the knife with which he had been spreading butter on his toast (it was Saturday) clattering to the counter. All heads swivel to him, but you seem to be the only one that's confused. Sitting at the and in the middle of a real, honest-to-goodness bowl of oatmeal, you feel frozen in place.

"Uh, what?"

"Who else is going to study Banner's work with me?" he asks.

"But we're almost done –"

" _Compiling_ the notes. We've only scratched the surface, sprite. And if you go, I'll have to interview applicants to take your place, and I _detest_ interviewing."

"Oh, please," Nat says. "We all know you'll make Pepper do it."

Tony shrugs, taking a bite of toast. "She doesn't like it either."

"You can stop calling me sprite now," you say, trying to calm the excitement in your stomach. You could stay? "I'm not small anymore, in case anyone's noticed."

Bucky snorts next to you, but Sam's laugh cuts across the kitchen. "You keep thinking that," he says. "After you got zapped, we had to check your medical records to make sure you came back to full height, and not three-quarters or something."

Your mouth falls open. "Hey –"

"Don't take it personally," Hope says, swooping in to pour herself a glass of orange juice. "He's just upset that we all bet against him for your little race on Monday."

"You all what?" Sam's indignant tone grows louder, and Tony slips out of the kitchen. But before leaving, he pauses by you.

"You'll stay?" he asks, one brow raised.

"I'll stay." You can feel Bucky's hand on your knee, giving a reassuring squeeze.

"Good. Barnes would have my head if I let you go." And with that remark (causing a frown on Bucky's face), Tony is gone. On his way out, he passes Steve, sweaty in his workout clothes and causing a few noses to wrinkle in protest. You don't have super soldier smell. It doesn't bother you.

"What, you run to Manhattan and back?" Sam asks, his grin glinting for the joke.

"No, just to Rochester." Steve leans back on the counter, barely out of breath as he looks around. And smiles. "Hey Buck, how about a rematch on the pushups? No cheating this time."

"Sure," Bucky says, casting you a bemused glance. "You up for it? I promise you won't fall off this time, sprite."

Well, _that_ was never going to end. But you plaster on a smile nonetheless, pinching Bucky's hand under the table. "Yep."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it for now, folks! I hope ya'll enjoyed it - and that you'll let me know if you did :) As I mentioned in an earlier chapter, this is only the first part for a very fun trilogy I've been working on. So, if you're interested in more plot/characters/fluff/adventure, keep your eyes peeled! I'm going to start posting Sprite 2.0 in the coming weeks :)


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